


Exposition

by Anonymous



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Plug, Extremely Dubious Consent, Hypnotism, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, depending on how you interpret it it could be either of the following, what a silly thing to put in this fic but technically yeah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:20:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22367827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Harry isfull.It’s thick inside of him, filling him up and pulsing, throbbing,good.He’s warm, tingly. The world is… small. The world is bliss. He feels everything and nothing, aware and unaware.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 9
Kudos: 169
Collections: Anonymous Unicorns





	Exposition

**Author's Note:**

> Could be viewed as part of [this series,](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15623517) but that's debatable.

Harry is  _ full. _

It’s thick inside of him, filling him up and pulsing, throbbing,  _ good. _

He’s warm, tingly. The world is… small. The world is bliss. He feels everything and nothing, aware and unaware. 

_ Open your mouth. _

Harry opens his mouth. He can’t… he couldn’t possibly  _ not.  _ He’s compelled, the command echoing in his mind. It’s the  _ only _ thing in his mind. The only thing that makes sense. 

His mouth is open… He did that, at some point. His mouth is open and then his mouth is full, so full. It’s as full as the rest of him, a heavy length resting on his tongue and filling him up. 

Harry hums. He licks and sucks and chokes a little when the length leaves him only to slam back in, hitting his throat at a pace too fast for Harry to keep up, to comprehend. He chokes, but doesn’t stop, moaning while his mouth stays open as commanded, only vaguely aware of the drool falling from his lips. 

Harry is full, so full. The pulsing inside of him a constant reminder, feeling like the only thing tethering him here, reminding him he  _ is. _ Harry is full and  _ heavy,  _ there’s a heaviness in his mind, a fog settled, obscuring every thought that tries to come through. His mouth has always been full, hasn’t it? Stuffed from end to end with a warm, thick length. Harry moans because it’s the only thing he  _ can _ do. The only thing he’s capable of. 

He’s floaty and he’s weightless and he’s heavy enough to sink to the ocean floor. He’s filled up and stuffed full and held down and so light. 

And suddenly he’s choking again, a warm, viscous thickness dripping down his throat because he can’t swallow, too stuffed full to swallow. He sucks, instead, like an infant with a dummy, because it’s all he can do. His arms are too heavy. His head is filled with cotton. 

And then his mouth is empty.

Harry whines, feeling the loss. He coughs and splutters a little, something in the back of his mind telling him how messy he is. Or maybe that’s some _ one. _ There are hands on his face, a wet cloth. He leans into the cloth, the touch, feeling an immense joy. Cared for. Touched. Full.

So full.

The pulsing, throbbing continues and he becomes more aware of it now. He’s full and he’s throbbing and he’s  _ hard, _ and suddenly it’s  _ unbearable.  _

He reaches for himself, for his cock, but before he can do anything— 

_ No. Don’t touch yourself.  _

Harry whines, desperate. His hand falls away, because he can’t— there’s no other option than to obey. There’s nothing he can do. His thighs clench and his fingers tangle themselves in the material of— of something. A blanket, or his clothes.

Was he ever wearing clothes?

He’s full and the throbbing is relentless and he’s crying because he can’t  _ do _ anything. His cock arches upward to his tummy and all he can do is uselessly twist, in need, need,  _ need. _

_ On your tummy. _

Immediately, Harry collapses onto his front. His cock makes contact with the surface he’s on. Blankets, he vaguely registers. As soon as it does he moans, humping into the material, seeking friction.

It’s not what he wants—  _ to touch himself, to be touched—  _ but there’s still the throbbing, pulsing full feeling and  _ anything _ is better than nothing against his aching dick. He chases his orgasm for what feels like no time at all until he comes with a shaking gasp, collapsing and letting the tremors work through him. 

He’s dimly aware of a hand in his hair, stroking his back, fingers running down his bare thighs. He’s still so  _ full, _ is the thing, the pulsing has lessened, but it’s still there, always there. He’s full and sated and warm and there are hands on him, celebrating him, glorifying him. 

He doesn’t sleep, but he loses time. 

— 

Before too long, though, the pulsing is stronger again, and he feels himself reacting, thickening. There’s hands all over him this time, and a mouth on his neck, the weight of a body on him. 

How many times has this happened, how long has he been like this? If he ever knew, he’s lost count now. As far as Harry can tell, he’s always been like this. Foggy and aching and  _ full. _ It’s all he’s ever known. 

He whines, pleadingly, for  _ something.  _ For someone. A voice whispers comforts into his ear, that he’s a  _ good boy, so so good, _ that he  _ will look more broken before they’re done,  _ and that he  _ will be here a very long time.  _

Harry writhes, he moans, his cock hard and curved up against his stomach. He rolls his hips, looking for friction, and finds it against the rough material of the trousers of the person above him. There are legs on either side of his own, and Harry finds one with a shaky hand and clutches onto it. He can’t touch himself, of course not, he’s never been able to. But his thumb works in heavy circles around the thigh he’s clutching, looking for some unknown relief.

He rolls his hips again, and moans at the contact. Soon he’s writhing and arching his back desperately, seeking out that contact more with every passing second, as a mouth sucks and bites at his neck with enough force for Harry to whimper and plead without words, desperate to be heard. He’s  _ full _ and he’s  _ desperate _ and— 

Then, like a power switch being thrown, it’s like everything turns off. He’s no longer full, no longer pulsing. Harry blinks, his vision clearing. It had been so… foggy before. But he can see just fine, can’t he?

“What…” He puts a hand to his head as if that could solve the confusion of thoughts and memories. “Where am I?”

He looks up at the man whose thighs are bracketing his own. “Louis…? What’s going on?” Harry’s naked. Why is he naked? 

“Oh,” says Louis. He’s breathing heavily, Harry notes with confusion. He looks like he’s been running a marathon.

“Here,” Louis says, reaching around him. “Your control plug must have fallen out.”

Then, before Harry has time to take that in and react, Louis’ fingers deftly push something inside of him, and he instinctively clenches around it.

And Harry is  _ full, _ pulsing and throbbing and  _ thick _ and  _ full _ and with just two more thrusts upward into the crotch of the man leaning over him and biting lovemarks into his chest, Harry is coming for what could be the third time or the hundredth time. 

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know much of anything. All he knows, as he collapses in a heap, is  _ full. _


End file.
